→ my name is lana snyder and this is my story on what happened at the end of the world. we were invaded and it was a mass instinctive event. but somehow i was one of the survivors.
- the 5th wave
→ started : 12/22/22 - finished : 3/17/23
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tank is gone, taken to the hospital for a full psych eval. his bunk remains empty for a week, while our squad, one man short, falls further and further behind in points. we'll never graduate, never trade in our blue jumpsuits for real uniforms, never venture beyond the electric fence and razor wire to prove ourselves, to pay back a fraction of what we've lost.
we don't talk about tank. it's as if tank never existed. we have to believe the system is perfect, and tank is a flaw in the system.
i was sitting on my bed, teacup and nugget at the end of it petting tobi as i finished up the picture of teacup. she looks behind her as dumbo and zombie stand by a table looking skittish. "what's up with your boyfriend?" she asks, i raise my eyebrows at her, zombie and i didn't put a label on anything but clearly people see us getting closer and now they're putting a label on it theirselves.
"what i ask snapping my eyes up from the paper."
"they look a little worried." she said pointing towards the two. i sigh.
"i'll go check." i say before getting up and walking up to the two. zombie turns his head to me his eyes wide. "what?" i ask worriedly before looking at the table. dumbo is training to be the squad medic, so he has to dissect designated corpses, usually teds, to learn about human anatomy. they don't say anything.
its tank.
we stare at his face for a long moment. his eyes are open, staring sightlessly at the ceiling. he's so fresh, it's unnerving. dumbo glances around the hangar to make sure no one can overhear us, and then whispers, "don't tell Flint."
zombie nods. "what happened?" i ask.
dumbo shakes his head. he's sweating badly under the protective hood. "that's the really freaky thing. i can't find anything."
i look back down at tank. he isn't pale. his skin is slightly pink without a mark on it. how did tank die? did he go dorothy in the psych ward, maybe overdose himself on some drugs?
"what if you cut him open?" zombie asks.
"i'm not cutting tank open," he says. he's looking at him as if zombie just told him to jump off a cliff.
he nods. stupud idea. dumbo is no doctor; he's a twelve-year-old kid. he glances around the hangar again. "get him off this table," he says. "i don't want anyone else to see him." including himself.
tanks body is stacked with the others by the hangar doors to be disposed. he's loaded onto the transport for the final leg of his journey to the incinerators, where he will be consumed in fire, his ashes mixing with the gray smoke and carried aloft in a column of superheated air, eventually to settle over us in particles too fine to see or feel. he'll stay with us—on us—until we shower that night, washing what's left of tank into the drains connected to the pipes connected to the septic tanks, where he will mix with our excrement before leaching into the ground.
tanks replacement arrives in two days. we know he's coming, because the night before reznik announces it during q&a. he won't tell us anything about him, except the name: ringer. after he leaves, everybody in the squad is jacked up; reznik must have named him ringer for a reason.
nugget comes over to zombies bunk and asks, "what's a ringer?"
"someone who you slip into a team to give it an edge," he explains. "somebody who's really good."
"marksmanship," i guess. "thats where we're weakest. poundcakes and i are our best, and flints okay, but you and dumbo and teacup suck. and nugget can't even shoot."
"come over here and say i suck," teacup shouts. i look at her with a chill out look. she's always looking for a fight. she sits back down with a nod of defeat.
